


N is for "No, 'Nora"

by OtakuElf



Series: YADAA (Yet Another Dragon Age Alphabet) [14]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Gen, Societal expectations
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-07
Updated: 2015-11-07
Packaged: 2018-04-30 11:30:00
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5162261
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OtakuElf/pseuds/OtakuElf
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nora Mac Tir has had a particular problematic relationship with each of the men in her life.</p>
            </blockquote>





	N is for "No, 'Nora"

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you to my beta reader, Lunamoth116!
> 
> Yes, yes, yes, let's play "spot the Alistair".

Anora was annoyed. Annoyed, but not angry. She had learned control at her father’s knee. It was not that she wanted to go to Ostagar with her father, with Cailan, with Cailan’s beloved Grey Wardens. Darkspawn - even the thought of them frightened her. Their people needed to be protected. Ferelden was in danger.

Cailan kept bringing up Orlais. As though Orlais would offer assistance without any desire for recompense. Her father, Teyrn Loghain of Gwaren and Hero of River Dane, refused to allow the Grey Wardens stationed in Orlais to join them in Ostagar to battle the hordes of Darkspawn appearing in the Korcari Wilds. Grey Wardens were not political. Their sole purpose was the eradication of the Blight.

“Anora,” her father said to her, “we don’t even know this is a Blight. There has been no sign of an Archdemon. If we open the door to any Orlesians, then they will all pour in. We’ve seen what happens when Orlais takes power. 

“Cailan, no. You will not get the Landsmeet to agree to turning to the Empress. Many of us fought and still have scars from following your father. Maric would never agree to this.”

Cailan had replied, “Then we go to fight the darkspawn with what we have - the Fereldan Grey Wardens and our levees. The Bannorn will join us. Their lands will suffer from the Blight when it spreads from the Korcari. No, ‘Nora, we cannot wait.”

Soon after that “discussion”, King Cailan and General Loghain were traveling to the south, to Ostagar. Anora was left to handle the business of rule in Denerim. Here she was queen. That did not mean that her subjects could not tell her “no”. But they tended to use other words to convey that meaning. Anora could work with that. How she hated hearing those words: “No, ‘Nora.” Nora. No one called her that. No one except for Cailan. And her father always used her full name.

Alone again, Anora remembered no time when she had not been lonely. Her mother and father did not foster, and so there were no children of nobility for her to learn from or befriend. Her parents did not host many social events in Gwaren, and they spent little time in their manor in Denerim. Anora was not left to run wild. Not exactly. When she was not part of the gatherings of adults that her parents hosted, she was free to spend her time studying, or in pursuits that were suitable for her station. She loathed needlework, and housekeeping, but learned, as she had to, from the chatelaine and her mother.

Anora’s joy, aside from her parents, was in the horses - not sidesaddle as so many other women rode, but astride - and in books. Those were her chosen pursuits, and she was never lonely when she had those two pastimes available.

Then, there was Cailan. Anora’s mother, how Anora missed her, had often spoken of when Cailan had looked at the new baby and been told by King Maric that Anora would be Cailan’s queen.

“Oh,” the tiny blond boy had said. “She’s awfully small. Will she be pretty when she grows up?”

Anora’s father had taken the small bundle from his arms and told the prince, “Beautiful. Like the sun, Cailan.”

Anora could imagine Cailan wrinkling his nose over a tiny red baby. Now he made that face when he told her, “Don’t be a nuisance, ‘Nora.”

“No, ‘Nora.” Anora Mac Tir was little. She could count. Just not like a scholar yet. Not enough to tell how many times she’d heard that from Cailan. Prince Cailan Theirin. Mother had told her always to keep Cailan’s full name and rank in her mind. If she did that, mistakes in Court would be smaller, and less frequent.

Anora had repeated the phrase to Queen Rowan with her ladies-in-waiting. They had laughed. Queen Rowan, at least, told Anora to teach that to Cailan. The other women, nobles of lesser rank than her father, had been what Anora’s mother called “badly behaved”. Anora listened. She knew what the noble houses said of her father and mother: “Jumped up.” “Only a farmer.” A tradeswoman, would you believe it?”

Now Queen Rowan was gone. Anora’s mother was dead. Anora had only her father. She and her father had not been home to Gwaren in months. They were traveling from place to place in Ferelden building what father called “alliances”. Even King Maric had to build those. Father had told her, “Anora, you will be an asset to Cailan. You will build the bridges that he doesn’t understand are important.”

Anora tried to tell Cailan about the building of friendships that would help him later on, when he was king. “No, ‘Nora,” Cailan had told her. “People come to the king, not the other way ‘round. The king leads, and all the others, the nobles, the knights, the people, well, they follow.”

Anora knew now not to preface anything with her father’s name or knowledge. And Cailan was not interested in the writings of scholars and diplomats many years deceased. The theory of governance - that kings and rulers are given their ability to lead their country by the people - was not something Cailan could understand. All people, from the starved-looking elves in the alienage to the nobles in their stone fortresses, made the decision to follow, or to replace their ruler. Andraste certainly had shown that even the powerful mages of Tevinter were no match for the people. Cailan never heard this from his father, King Maric, nor his mother, Queen Rowan. Cailan truly believed that his royal bloodline made him uniquely qualified to rule. He would not argue with Anora about it - he simply dismissed her thoughts. Cailan did not read, and the prince would not listen to Anora read. “No, ‘Nora” once again.

There had been that trip to Redcliffe. King Maric and her father were there to visit Queen Rowan’s family, not long after the queen’s death. Arl Eamon was unmarried at the time. After the polite necessities, Cailan had run off to the armory. Anora was not allowed to run about “like a hoyden”, and she was uninterested in swords. The other little girls her father had surrounded Anora with were by then already set in the solar, working on needlework under supervision of one of the queen’s court ladies. If swords were tedious, needles were even more so. That day Anora decided contrarily that she would ride about the Arling of Redcliffe. The Master of the Horse brought her a beautiful white palfrey, his muddy little stable boy leading sturdy mounts for Anora’s guards.

There had been a time when the little girl would have ridden off without that guard. Her father had put a stop to that. “Anora, no. You must take care. Stay with your guard. I could not bear it if I lost you. No more riding alone.”

And Cailan, “No, ‘Nora. I don’t want to ride. I want to look at the armory. Go with your little girls instead.” He’d been laughing at her. He had no use for the little girls. Nor for any girls who were not knights. Not back then.

It had been a lovely day. Brisk and windy - Anora liked this kind of weather. Or any weather really. Oh, not to ride in. Of course one didn’t like to ride in rain. But a brisk trot on a brisk day? That was glorious, and the only freedom she knew. Brigands attacked them as they rode through the woods surrounding the fields of Redcliffe. Tomas, the sergeant of her guards, had ordered the youngest, a tall man with a bad seat, to take the lady back to the castle, while the rest delayed a band of rough-looking men on wild looking horses. 

Those rough-looking men outrode the guard with the bad seat. But they could not outride Anora. There was joy in the race, and fear for her men. All Anora could think of was to get to aid, to send help back for Tomas and the others.

Riding into the cobblestoned castle yard, Anora ignored the muddy stable boy as he took the bridle of her palfrey. “Boy! Call the guard. We were attacked, and my men need assistance.”

The boy was quick, she would give him that. With the head of the Redcliffe guard came Cailan. “Ser, you must ride to their assistance! My guard delayed the brigands, while I was sent back to the castle!” Anora demanded.

Cailan laughed. “Ser Tomas could take on any number of outlaws. You’re just frightened. No, ‘Nora, we just need to wait and they’ll come back on their own.”

Anora drew herself up. Ignoring the prince, she spoke again to the Captain of the Guard. “Ser, there were at least a score of men on horseback. They were armed - swords and axes. Please help my men. They are outnumbered four to one.”

Anora would always bless Bann Teagan who had come to see what the fuss was. A quick nod from the Bann, and horses were brought. The guards rode out with the Bann in their number, after which the gate came down, and a watch was set. Once the excitement of the moment was gone, Cailan became quickly bored, and went back to his swords. The stable boy took her palfrey back to the stables, and Anora went to watch from the walls.

When the Bann returned with extra, rough-looking horses, loaded down with the corpses of the attackers, and her bloodied but alive guard, Anora could not contain her relief. Teagan thanked her for her warning, and happily received the kiss she bestowed on his cheek. Cailan teased her about the adventure for years. He never understood that it was not for friendship’s sake that she’d done it. Those men were not her friends. They were her responsibility. It was her duty.

Just as Cailan was her duty. She always came back. She was dutiful. When he mocked her joy in riding or scholarship. In their arguments about rule. Even when she found out about Cailan’s women. That was before they were married. Of course, that would all stop when they were married, wouldn’t it? And then she found out about the men. Not really an issue, that he liked men as well as women. But it would all stop when they were married. Wouldn’t it?

“No, ‘Nora,” Cailan said, “you’re imagining things. Of course I’m faithful to you.”

He had left, shining in the Denerim sunlight, giving her a kiss, and waving away her wishes for a safe return. “No, ‘Nora. You have nothing to be worried about. It will be glorious. Your father will lead the armies, and I will ride with the Grey Wardens. What darkspawn can stand up to that?”


End file.
